Extending the Olive Branch
by dumpling47
Summary: One-shot. John and Sherlock get in a fight, and John suggests that they "see other people". That idea won't work for long, however - not when Sherlock's surprisingly eager to make amends. Fluffy Johnlock.


John and I got in a fight. I was rotten to him, but then again, he was just as bad - I'll spare you the details. It all ended with him suggesting that we "take a break" and "see other people for awhile."

Of course that's easy for John. He's always been a sort of ladies' man, and it all just seems so natural for him, getting back into the dating game. He acts like nothing's wrong. Me, I'm much more awkward. I could never just date someone, not even to make John jealous. I don't often care for people, but I care for John, and having him ignore me like this is absolutely miserable.

I don't even know what he wants out of me, or who should apologize first, or anything, really, so I've been keeping busy with cases, not bothering to invite him along. I've been something of a loner most of my life, anyway - so why do I feel like something's missing?

I've grown too dependent on John Watson; it's the only explanation.

And yet, part of me (hell, _all_ of me) doesn't give a damn. Every inch of my being enjoys his presence on cases, even if he isn't as quick as me (who is?). He grounds me, praises me ... loves me. Puts up with all my idiosyncrasies. No one else has done that before. Now I'm alone, and I absolutely hate it.

Besides, when I'd been alone, back before I'd known the man, I hadn't known of true friendship, so what was there to miss? And then, to borrow an old quote, you can't truly miss something until it's gone.

Suddenly, I know what I have to do.

John looks up at me as I stand, eyebrows raised.

"Going somewhere?" he asks.

I shrug. "Haven't you got a date tonight?"

John smiles - but it seems halfhearted. "Yeah, with Janelle. She's coming over for a movie."

"Mm." I frown. The tension in the air is undeniable. "Good thing I've got work to do down at the morgue. I'll give you two some privacy."

"Good," John says, not bothering to call me out on my obvious lie. The word also seems halfhearted.

I pull on my coat and exit the room. I've got two hours to kill, I might as well walk, rather than take a cab. With that in mind, I make my way down to Tesco - the one furthest away from Baker Street (within walking distance, that is). I enter the store, bracing myself for chaos.

Ugh. This is why I don't frequent supermarkets. I'm practically having sensory overload as I'm bombarded with bright lights, squealing children, and long lines of shoppers, all with far too many groceries. I make my way over to the refrigerated section and pull out a gallon of milk.

No - John doesn't like skim - how could I forget that? He always complains about how watery it is. I quickly put the gallon back and pull out the 1%. Now, what else would John want? Hmm ... he's always been partial to jam and toast. I grab a loaf of bread and a jar of jam, by now starting to wish I'd grabbed a basket. Oh, well ... too late now.

Is there anything I'm forgetting? John won't just want what I've gotten; it's not nearly enough. With an small shrug I grab some eggs and his favorite candy bar.

The lines are busy, so I opt for the chip-and-PIN machine. Those blasted things are another reason I don't frequent these infernal places. I have a very similar experience to the ones John's always describing - it starts acting up, I tell it to shut up a bit too loudly, and an employee has to help me out.

"Why don't you just ring me up? What's the point of these bloody machines?" I demand. The woman pretends not to hear me as she sets about expertly ringing up my items. Some punk behind me is laughing. All I can say is, John had better appreciate what I've gone and done for him.

It's raining when I step out of the store, so I take a cab back home. Turns out I've been gone for an hour and a half, and Janelle's probably not gone yet. Oh, well ... if I sneak up to my room without them noticing me, things should be fine.

When I return to Baker Street, John's sitting on the sofa, looking forlorn. He doesn't even look up when I enter the sitting room.

"What's the matter?" I ask, truly sympathetic. It hits me only then that Janelle's gone.

"Janelle and I broke up," John grumbles. "Because she sensed I 'wasn't really feeling it'. And you know what? I wasn't! I bloody wasn't, because I don't even like her like that. I, well -" he looks up, his mouth opening in surprise. "Sherlock Holmes, did you just buy groceries?"

I'm startled. "John?"

"C'mere, you," John says, standing up and beckoning me closer. I set down the bag and the gallon of milk, unsure of what's about to happen, but suddenly he's embracing me, his arms strong, his jumper warm.

"You bloody git," John pulls back. "I'll bet you anything she sensed that I wasn't over you in the slightest."

"Really? You seemed completely enamored of her. Of all the girls you've been with lately, actually."

"Yeah, well, I must be a great actor if I fooled _you_!" John laughs. "Sherlock, I just wanted to tell you, I'm very sorry about our fight."

"Me, too. That's why I -"

"I know, and it's won me over completely," John grins. "I never thought I'd see the day when you'd return with a Tesco bag! This is one for the books!" He laughs heartily - a laugh I haven't heard in ages.

"John?"

"Yes?"

"I missed you. So much. I couldn't even function properly, you know. I wasn't thinking like I usually do."

"That's - that's saying something," John says, sounding awed. "I'm glad we're back. It was getting hard to fake affection for other people."

"I'll never get how you do it," I say, smiling weakly. "How you can be right back in the dating game five minutes after a fight."

"I don't know, either. Guess it's the good old John Watson charm, eh?"

"That'll be it."

We kiss warmly, only interrupted by Mrs. Hudson's sigh in the background.

"I'm so glad you two are back together!" she chirps. "I hate seeing you all mad at each other, you know?"

"Our fighting might've dragged out even longer, seeing as I'm a stubborn arse," John admits. "But Sherlock bought the groceries - just when we were needing some, actually - and, well, it's a monumental event, if you catch my meaning."

Mrs. Hudson congratulates us, leaving the room soon after. I smile in John's direction. Damn, I can't seem to stop smiling lately. I'll have to work on that.

"Thanks, Sherlock," John says, taking a peek in the bag. "Oh, jam!"

"I knew you'd like that."

"Sherlock Holmes, you are the most thoughtful person I know."

And suddenly, we're kissing again. It's amazing, really - there's so much affection and sentiment going around, all over a bag of bloody groceries. I'm about to point it out, but I realize it would probably ruin the moment, and I don't want that.

So I lean further into the kiss, not a little proud of myself for extending the olive branch.


End file.
